I’m a little concerned about what you all think of me. I mean, I posted about gingerbread and cobbler and chocolate chip cookies and chocolate beet cake, all in a row. You probably think that all I eat is sugar and more sugar. And you’re right. Just kidding! See, a lot of what I eat is too boring to mention. Leftover salad for breakfast, oatmeal, peanut butter and jelly, more leftover whatever, granola, tomato sandwiches, eggs. It’s just not note-worthy.
And then when I get it into my head to fix something different, something unusual, something gourmet, then my whole family suffers.
Take, for instance, last night. Late in the afternoon, I dug a bowlfull of fingerlings, boiled them up, and then turned them into Smashed Potatoes (more on that recipe later—it’s a good one). While the tators were in the oven, I fled the house to go on a jog-slash-walk. Mr. Handsome kept an eye on the potatoes and the kids, and then he fed the potatoes to the kids, along with some ketchup. Everyone was still hungry when I got home, which was totally understandable and expected, so I made Supper Part II: Fried parsley and lemons wrapped in corn tortillas.
Yes, you heard right. I fried lemon slices
and wrapped them in warm corn tortillas,
all because Gourmet magazine told me to.
It was actually quite yummy. Different, refreshing, and definitely gourmet. Not something the kids ate (I didn’t even do any insisting as I knew my offering was a little over the top), and not something that could stand in for an actual meal. But hey, I (rather, Mr. Handsome) had already served those smashed potatoes, and the kids were happy enough about gobbling up plain tortillas with ketchup. Mr. Handsome had a rather sour look on his face (from the lemons, maybe?), so I fried up some of the leftover boiled fingerlings in the lemony oil (Yo-Yo Boy said they tasted like a carnival—I’m still not sure if that was a good or bad thing), and Mr. Handsome ate some of the potatoes wrapped up in a tortilla, along with cheese and ketchup.
I made him a coffee shake afterwards. To compensate.
I think he feels towards my gourmet cooking as I feel towards his smashed applesauce. See, we’re a good team—we are each adept at doing dumb things, so we each have become skilled in the art of Dumbness Survival. Maybe that, surviving your spouse's dumbness, is the bottom line to a happy marriage? Ooo, now there’s a deep thought. I’ll have to ponder that for a bit.
Okay, I pondered. Now allow me to elaborate:
Here, here! In order to survive a marriage you must know how to survive the other person's dumb ideas, dumb mistakes, and dumb experiments---in other words, the sum total of his royal Dumbness! (And remember, at the same time you are surviving his dumbness, he is also surviving your's.)
I have a feeling I could write a book about this. (Mr. Handsome could, too.)
Ps. I think the lemon-parsley tortilla wraps would be better, more acceptable, if they were served with shredded, spicy chicken and sour cream.